


Slow Hands

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Law School, Songfic, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:12:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: AU - Cannon divergence type fic set in their law school days.Hillary's POV.Loosely inspired by the song Slow Hands by Niall Horan.





	Slow Hands

**Author's Note:**

> So Niall Horan's slow hands is one of my go to jams right now and saw this flowing from beneath my fingers. Little ficlet that kind of came out of nowhere but I do hope some of you guys enjoy it. To any followers who are also reading Baby Steps, I am trying to get enough done that I can update more than one chapter next time. I've had a really crazy last couple weeks trying to get approval for my wheelchair to be repaired and now waiting to have it returned, then I went to my first ever Pride festival this weekend so my mind has not really been on writing. I promise I've not forgotten. I'm sorry for the wait, but I do hope it will be worth it. ;) 
> 
> Thank you to all who follow, support and stick with me for all your kind, lovely comments and endless Kudos. They do mean a lot and keep me motivated. :) xx

**Slow Hands**

 

The prof at the front of the room drones on and on about things I am subconsciously aware I should care about, but I don't. Rather than stringing together full sentences or forming coherent, logical thoughts, my paper becomes full of tiny holes as the point of the pen I hold in my hand pushes too heavily into it. My peripheral catches a sliver of his thick, dark, wavy hair and I lock my eyes on the strands, catapulted back to the previous evening.

 

_“Are you sated, my baby?” he drawled at me as he propped himself up on an elbow, long fingers cupping his cheek as piercing blues peered down at me._

 

_The smile that slowly spread itself across my lips made its way upward into my eyes. I could feel manifest every crease and crinkle to the skin which surrounded them. “Bill,” I breathed, almost laughing. “Is that what I am now?” Turning onto one side, I used a hand not tucked beneath me to tighten the hold of the pristine white linens round my torso._

 

_“You could be,” he told me softly, slowly. “If you wanted.”_

 

_My blues bore into his for tantalizing, delicious moments before I spoke. My brow shot upward, and I subconsciously felt teeth grazing my bottom lip before biting down on it. It wasn't an act of apprehension, I was not nervous, but experiencing emotions I hadn't before._

 

_“Independent as I am,” I smirked as I blinked at him. “I quite like the idea of being your baby. God knows how sexy it is when you say so.”_

 

_“I quite like the idea of you thinking I'm sexy,” Bill replied with sparkling eyes, winking as the cadence of his voice fell over my eardrums like slow dripping honey._

 

_Until then, we'd only found ourselves engaged in casual conversation, even more sporadic and casual sex. As I lay there looking at him, mind whirring with thoughts of all previous carnal acts that had transpired betwixt us, I realised I wanted much, much more._

 

_“I always have.” My lips met his and the kiss that followed was deep and languid, passion which laced it gradually heating and burning both of us inside out._

 

_“You never answered my question,” he told me, pulling back to look into my face. “Are you sated?”_

 

 

_I grinned devilishly. “I definitely was, but the heat between my thighs is certainly not protesting against the idea of another round.”_

 

_His eyes sparkled, and as a laugh escaped him, I cupped pinkened cheeks in my palms, pulling him toward me and allowing my tongue to begin a slow, deliberate dance across his open and waiting mouth. Again, I realise there is more to be discovered beneath the surface of this relationship. He is unlike anyone I have ever met, and I wonder, not for the first time, if I'm opening Pandora's Box by giving him my attentions. My heart wins out in the end. The too loud bass of its thudding in my eardrums brings to the forefront of my mind three little words:_ I want him. All _of him._

 

_“Your wish is my command,” he uttered slowly, nimble fingers expertly doing away with the sheet around me. My porcelain skin is exposed seemingly in one swift motion, and I can't get enough of the way his eyes flit across my body. They are dancing, flickering, drinking in my being in its flawed entirety in such a way I begin to forget I have any flaws at all. In that second, the three little words whizzing around in my brain were joined by four more:_ take all of me.

 

 

“Ms. Rodham,” the professor says to me, voice bored and eyes unimpressed. I am not usually one to be caught unaware in his classroom. “Care to share what has taken your attention away from my lesson with the rest of us?”

 

Gaze cast downward, my cheeks begin to flame as I clear my throat and try to formulate an appropriate response. “I – I'm sorry, sir, I was, uh..”

 

“Don't let it happen again,” the prof says sharply.

 

“Absolutely not,” I say, pitch of my voice so high I don't even recognise it.

 

I can feel Bill's eyes burning into me as he sits in the seat across the aisle from mine and I squeeze my thighs together. I know without looking his eyes are dancing mischievously and he's trying desperately not to laugh. Again, the three words roll around in my head, and I know that I want him. Now, however, I am a hundred percent sure that it is in many more ways than one.

 

Slowly, carefully, quietly as I can so as not to find myself in more hot water with the professor, I rip a section from the sheaf of paper in front of me and scribble across it in chicken scratch handwriting. Folding it as small as I can, I reach across the aisle and pass it from my short fingers into Bill's lengthier ones.

 

 

' _I need to talk to you after classes'_

 

As I see him nod imperceptibly, I let out a breath I was not aware I'd been holding. Part of it may have been relief over not having been caught with my attention strayed from the lesson in front of me again, but most of it was dissipating tension. Finally, I would have the chance – work up the nerve – to tell this fascinating, wonderful, gloriously complicated man, that I wanted him; that I wanted him to want – and have – all of me in return. That this was more than sex. It was something bigger than the both of us, and I knew I'd deeply regret allowing it to pass me by.

 

I wonder for a moment if he too, is sweating through his clothes. I wonder how this conversation will go, and it causes butterflies to form in the pit of my stomach. Once they pass, I smile to myself. I recall the methodical movements of his slow hands along every inch of my body, the sweat dripping off our dirty laundry as it lays in forgotten heaps on the floor next to a shared bed.

 

I have a feeling (one that I hope goes well and truly beyond premonition) that the ensuing conversation won't be the last of what we share together.

 


End file.
